


Strange Love

by Scavengersdaughter2



Series: Birthday Songfic Playlist [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe Rockstars, Alternate Universe no werewolves, Car Sex, M/M, Rimming, Songfic, Stiles is the singer, Weed, based on a halsey song, derek is the drummer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavengersdaughter2/pseuds/Scavengersdaughter2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles are in a band.<br/>Why can't people mind their own business?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Love

"If I see this picture one more time, I’m going to drink myself into oblivion." 

Stiles threw his phone onto the cushion beside Derek. It bounced twice, narrowly avoiding a crash to the floor. 

Derek glanced at the screen. He’d seen the picture many times. "That’s the most appropriate reaction you could come up with?" 

Stiles turned away, mumbling: "At least it would give them something else to talk about." 

"They’re going to talk no matter what we do." 

Stiles heaved his body dramatically onto the sofa. "Yeah, yeah." 

Derek mimicked him in a high-pitched voice, turning back to his tablet. 

 

It'd been a moment of weakness for the two of them. 

 

They were riding the high of a good show and probably too much Adderall on Stiles' part. 

He couldn't remember who made the first move but they ended up in the bathroom and he was fingering Stiles and shoving in and fucking him against the sink. They'd stumbled out, Stiles limping and looking well fucked and disheveled. Some pap made it past security and that was how Stiles' post-fuck hair and bruised lips were plastered across every social media outlet available. 

 

The singer huffed, arms firmly crossed over his chest to show Derek He Was Truly Upset. "They just say… awful things." 

Derek shrugged. "It’s always been that way. We’re musicians." 

"It’s none of their fucking business. And the stuff they say about you really bothers me." 

"What do they say about me?" 

Stiles stared at him blankly before saying "Never mind." 

Derek didn’t comment; he never read tabloids by design.  

"It just pisses me off," the singer repeated. 

 

Stiles had started out as a solo artist. He had talent and a face that attracted the attention of teen girls everywhere. Then Lydia, his manager, wanted to expand. 

"You can't play any instruments. So let's get someone who can." 

They'd hired Matt, a drummer with reasonable ability. He'd turned out to be a real piece of shit. The whole 'I'm the drummer. You're the singer. Let's fuck' mentality did not sit well with Stiles. So that guy was out. 

By the next week there were articles, Matt's testaments of how 'insane' Stiles was. 

It was a PR nightmare, or so Lydia had said. 

Derek was kicked out of his band at around the same time. He thought they were idiots. They did not agree.  

And he was pretty much notoriously impossible to work with. 

Lydia saw an opportunity. 

It was definitely rough at first. 

Derek thought Stiles was annoying. But he had decent ideas and a loyal occult following (alt pop was a small genre, with only a handful of artists that people actually knew the name of. So the recognition and fame bit didn't hurt either). 

Stiles thought Derek was an ass (that opinion hadn't changed but now 'ass' was more of an endearment than an insult). 

"Lydia, I can’t work with him." 

"And why not?" 

Stiles huffed, not caring if he was the picture of a spoiled teenage singer. "He doesn’t like me. I don’t like him." 

"That’s it?" 

"Isn’t that enough?" 

"This is business. As long as you sound good together and make money, that’s all that matters. ‘Liking’ has nothing to do with it." 

"Lydiaaaa. Please." 

"Make it work." 

 

When they finally clicked, it was magic. 

It’d started as a playful shove. Then turned into grabbing and kissing. 

They hadn’t stopped since. 

"Maybe all that hatred was just repressed sexual tension," Lydia had commented. She’d taken one look at them days later and somehow knew what had transpired. The girl had some kind of ESP. Like an impending-sex sensing-banshee.

"Just keep your personal life out of the tabloids. We don’t need a scandal." 

He hadn't been answering her phone calls for the last two days. 

 

 

Derek passed the joint back to him. 

The clock read three in the morning. 

They were still on tour. Cruising an empty road in Washington. The rental company would be pissed about the smell of weed. Whatever. 

The windows were fogged. 

Derek looked to Stiles. He was writing something. 

He turned around, smiling like a kid. He'd written 'FUCK YOU' backwards. 

"Mature." 

"Do you know how much skill it requires to write backwards?" 

Derek turned in his seat. Backwards, he wrote: 'YOU'RE AN IDIOT'. 

Stiles huffed. "First of all, rude. Second, go fuck yourself." 

"But it feels so much better with you," he cooed. 

Stiles put his hand on the drummer's thigh. Massaging the firm muscle there. "Really now." 

"If you keep your hand on my thigh, I can't be held responsible for my actions." 

Stiles squeezed harder. "That a promise?" 

 

They moved to the back seat in a frenzy of touching and tangled limbs. 

 

Derek leaned over and pressed their lips together. Stiles opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.  

He climbed across until he was practically in Derek’s lap. "Did we pay the security deposit on this thing?" Stiles breathed between kisses. 

"Probably." He sucked his way down Stiles' neck. 

He tilted his head back to provide Derek with greater access. As Derek continued, the singer unbuttoned his own shirt and dropped it to the car floor. 

He pressed the heel of his palm against Stiles' groin.  

He arched into the touch, the steady pressure of Derek's hand feeling so _fucking good_ against his erection. Derek unzipped his pants with a casual flick of his fingers. 

Stiles' jeans and underwear joined his coat on the floor. Then Derek pushed Stiles back until he was lying down on the leather seat, naked from the waist down. Derek was working on his own clothes. 

"Plan on joining me any time soon?" Stiles asked. 

"Give me a minute." Derek’s hand traced down one pale thigh. "I’m enjoying the view from here." 

Derek leaned down to kiss his knee, then high up on his thigh. His hand dipped down between Stiles’ legs into the cleft of his ass. He let out a sharp breath as Derek pushed his knees apart and slid one finger just over his hole. 

"Where's the lube?" Stiles groaned. 

"Be patient," Derek said. The drummer scooted back until he could duck between Stiles' spread legs. He licked a long line from the base of his cock to the tip. 

"Oh Jesus." Stiles flailed for something to hold onto. He reached down to fist his hands in Derek’s hair. He pushed Stiles’ ass up to get further down towards his hole. He continued to lick maddeningly around the base of Stiles’ cock. 

"Get on your stomach," Derek ordered. He tugged on his dick for motivation. 

Stiles shuddered and nearly kneed him in the jaw as he obeyed. It took a moment for them to arrange themselves in the cramped space.  

Stiles was on his knees, elbows on the seat. Derek was behind him, fingers dancing under his shirt to rub his nipples. 

He withdrew his hand and reached up front for his discarded jacket. He came back with a bottle of lube and popped the cap. 

Derek squirted a generous amount onto his fingers and then laid his free hand on Stiles’ ass, spreading his cheeks and slipping his coated fingers between them.  

Derek’s tongue pressed in next to his fingers and laved right up against his hole. His clean hand gripped one of Stiles’ thighs to keep him from jerking away. His other hand teased around Stiles’ balls up to his leaking cock. His every touch too light. Too teasing.  

Stiles bit his lip, trying not to push back onto Derek’s tongue or his fingers. He panted wetly against the leather, his face pressed down against the seat, spine arched up for Derek to reach his ass. 

Derek leaned back, and before Stiles could protest the loss of his tongue, his lubed finger replaced it. 

"Relax," Derek crooned 

"—oh, _fuck._ " 

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists fruitlessly around nothing as the tip of Derek’s finger pushed into him, slowly and steadily. The blunt pressure straddled the line between pain and pleasure. Stiles teetered on the edge, unsure which side the experience would fall on.  

"Alright?" Derek asked after a few moments, his other hand on the small of Stiles' back. 

Stiles made a noncommittal noise and breathed for a moment, trying to decide. Eventually, he said, "Kind of. Just go slow." 

Derek pushed his finger in deeper, until the other four fingers of his hand were splayed across Stiles’ ass. Derek began to thrust his finger in and out slowly.  

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the sensation. Sparks of pleasure began to fly up his spine.  

Only an enormous amount of self-restraint kept Derek from unzipping his own pants and shoving in, right there.  

A second finger nudged in beside the first. It took a little more time to work into him.  

He had Stiles moaning and pushing back against his hand. His cock hung between his legs, hard and leaking.  

He wriggled back against Derek’s hand. "Please just fuck me now." 

"So needy," Derek said dryly. He pulled his fingers out and sat down. Stiles heard the sound of a zipper and shuffled around as Derek pushed his pants and underwear around his thighs. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Want to go for a ride?" 

Stiles smirked. "Always." 

He picked up the lube and coated Derek's cock. The drummer's breath grew noticeably more labored, hips stuttering toward Stiles' touch. He swung his legs apart to straddle him.  

Stiles let Derek's straining erection slide between his cheeks a few times, leaving smears of precum along his skin.  

Derek gripped his hips tightly enough to bruise and gritted out, "Please. Stiles."  

He took pity and reached between his legs to guide Derek’s cock to his prepared hole. 

The first push in made both of them gasp. Stiles hovered there for a moment to adjust.  

Then Stiles' knee slipped on the leather seat, and he was falling. Pushing Derek all the way in with an pace that tore a loud moan from his throat. Derek clutched him close and breathed heavily against his chest, body almost vibrating with pleasure at Stiles’ tight heat. 

"You okay?" he asked when both caught their breaths a bit. 

"Mm." Stiles pulled up experimentally and then sunk all the way back down. The stretch wasn’t entirely good, but any hint of pain was rapidly fading as Stiles steadied himself with his knees pressed to either side of Derek’s hips.  

He raised himself up again and clenched as he pushed down. Derek's groan was audible, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tilted his head back against the headrest.  

"Move," Derek panted. "Move." 

Stiles pulled up and eased back down slowly.  

Derek's hand gripped Stiles’ waist tightly to steady him. His other hand snaked up Stiles’ shirt, brushing over his sensitive nipples.  

Stiles grinded down against him, caught between the dual sensations of having Derek’s cock buried so deep within him and his touch roaming over his chest. Stiles shuddered in his arms, his cock twitching where it rubbed against Derek. 

"You feel _perfect_ ," Derek breathed into his skin. His hips rocked up against Stiles’ ass, driving his length deeper. "-So good. Just keep moving." 

He slammed down on Derek faster, pleasure beginning to tighten in his groin. Their breath started to come in matching, hitched gasps. He put his hand against Derek’s chest to steady himself. He could feel Derek’s racing heartbeat.  

He gasped out a moan and pulled Stiles down for a bruising kiss, arching up to drive into Stiles as he sank down.  

The combined movement sent Derek flying over the edge, his shout muffled into Stiles' mouth. He came buried deep in Stiles. 

Stiles' own cock jerked hard against Derek’s stomach, splattering come between the two of them. His hole clenched tightly around Derek, milking everything he had. 

They sat there, Stile slumped over in Derek’s lap. The drummer's arms wrapped around Stiles' back to pull him close.  

The only sound was their harsh panting. 

 

"We’re doing the new one tonight." 

Derek looked up from his kit. The Crew wasn’t allowed to set it up. He didn’t trust them. "It’s not on the set list." 

Stiles crossed his arms. "Tough." 

"Alright." It was pointless to argue. Stiles had The Look; there’d be no chance of him winning. Derek went back down to his drums. 

Stiles remained standing there. Derek looked back up at him. 

His confidence was leaving and he scratched the back of his head before saying: "I…no argument? That ‘this is a bad idea, Stiles’? Nothing?" 

Derek cracked a smile, getting up from his crouch. He put an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. "It’s a good idea." 

Stiles nodded. "Glad you agree, because Lydia will be pissed. And if I go down, you're coming with me." 

"Great." 

 

Stiles' stage presence was monumental. The energy he created was palpable. 

"This next one is for everyone who thinks I have to fucking tell them anything!" 

The crowd went crazy. 

 " _…They think I’m insane, they think my lover is strange…"_  

 Stiles' voice was powerful. Beautiful.  

 He held the mic out. Twenty thousand, " _That's the beauty of a secret_ ", answered him. 

 Derek stared at his ass, walking around the stage. Bending over to touch any outstretched hands. 

 " _Everybody's waiting up to hear if I dare speak your name."_  

 He walked, catching Derek's eyes on him. He smiled as he sang: _"Put it deep beneath the track, like the hole you left in me."_  

 When he sang, he was baring his soul. He was completely exposed. 

" _T_ _hese days I can't seem to make this right."_  

 Derek really wanted to fuck him. 

 

Lydia called him after the show. "If you don’t stop making heart eyes at each other where _literally everyone_ can see you, I’m just going to tell TMZ you’re mentally deficient and those aren’t heart eyes, it’s your absence of brain space shining through." 

Stiles laughed into the phone. "Just don’t tell them anything." 

"-Get off the phone and take responsibility for teasing me!" Derek yelled from the other room. 

"I have to go, Lydia." 

"You’re about to have sex, aren’t you?" 

"Maybe." 

"You really are mentally deficient." 

"Goodbye, darling." 

"I’m quitting." 

"Whatever you say." He hung up and practically skipped to Derek. 

 


End file.
